


Black Hole

by SilverWing15



Series: Cosmic Phenomena [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Captivity, Emperor Lotor, F/M, Imprisonment, Insane Lotor, No season 7 & 8 cause I do what I WANT, Possessive Behavior, The softest prison, this turned out kind of rambly but whatever, villainous crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 04:23:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20109088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWing15/pseuds/SilverWing15
Summary: Because of their enormous, space-bending gravity, everything that falls a black hole is instantly ripped apart and lost. Scientists have never seen a black hole, because nothing, not even light, can escape them.He frightens her.As much as she may deny it, may hiss that she hates him more than she could ever fear him, she knows the truth. He does too. It hums through her body, vibrating just under her skin as ever present as her own heartbeat. As ever present as he is.





	Black Hole

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up nearly a year late without starbucks* Hey have some more dark lotura angst babes.  
I'm not gonna bother saying how I felt about the last season of Voltron because it doesn't exist. I don't know what you guys are talking about.  
Anyway, its been a busy ass time for me. I actually published my got damn book and then I got depression about it like woah because apparently that's a thing that happens. I'm all good now, workin on the sequel but I got stuck so I wrote some fic.  
This turned out kind of rambly but eh I think its good. I may or may not write more at some point in the future, depends on how long I'm stuck. I also have some ideas for a side story/sequel to a few of my other things so keep an eye on that shit too.

He frightens her. 

As much as she may deny it, may hiss that she hates him more than she could ever fear him, she knows the truth. He does too. It hums through her body, vibrating just under her skin as ever-present as her own heartbeat. As ever-present as he is. 

Her rooms are lavish, beyond even what she’d enjoyed as heir to Altea. Her bed is large enough that all of the paladins could sleep on it with her if only they were here. (She wars with herself on whether or not she wishes they were. On the one hand, they would also be prisoners. On the other hand, she wouldn’t be alone with Lotor.) 

There is a sitting room with the most comfortable couch she’s ever seen, equipped with every entertainment imaginable. Her bathroom doesn’t have a bath so much as it has her own private swimming pool sized hot tub. There are several other rooms as well, empty for now, but Lotor has promised to fill them with whatever she desires. 

There is a kitchen, stocked with enough food to feed an army even though she never has real cause to use it. Her meals are always provided, all of them large and with fare more rich and expensive than the last. At first, they had been smaller, and plainer, she knows that it was to allow her stomach to get used to rich food, any food at all, again. She hates that he took that precaution. 

She hates everything about her rooms. Her prison. Her gilded cage. She would prefer that she was kept in a spare cell, given food and water only when the guards cared enough to remember that she existed. 

She would have preferred that she died before she’d been captured at all. After all these years of Lotor’s hunt, of Lotor’s conquest, the galaxy had been her prison long before this room. Every being with a lick of sense and a connection to Galra holo-nets knew her face, knew her worth. 

All of the galaxy is truly caught in Lotor’s clutches, but it is a far gentler grip than that of his father, so they are content to be held. There are no gladiator arenas built on the bones of slaves, no crops watered with the blood of innocents. The galaxy is at peace, her dream realized into her worst nightmare. 

Shiro had told her of how humans had come to have dogs. That they had befriended the wolves that followed their camps and over the generations, had worn away their killer instincts, had softened their hard edges with scraps from the fire. 

Lotor now sits at the fireside of peace, offering the galaxy the scraps of his empire from his hand and the galaxy is accepting them gladly. Allura was determined to be untamed, to slink away from the fire and back into the shadows, but Lotor has chained her at his feet. 

He comes every day to see her, sometimes multiple times in a day. He takes his meals with her as often as he can, brings her trinkets, tells her about his day, asks her about hers. Asks if there is anything she desires. 

“Set me free,” she answers without fail. 

“My dearest Allura,” he replies every time, his eyes wounded, worried “you are free.” 

That is the worst part. Worse than her soft prison are his soft words. The way he moves slowly and carefully around her never looms never lingers too close even though she can tell he wants to. The way he holds his head low keeps his hands in plain sight smiles with his fangs hidden behind his lips. 

Everything about him says,  _ “I am not a threat. You don’t need to be scared.”  _

And that scares her more than anything else he could do. Every gentle intonation of her name makes her breath hitch and her heart race. Every wary gesture makes her mouth dry and her hands tremble. 

Because he was gentle before. Achingly gentle, wonderfully careful, it had made her feel  _ safe _ . She had lived for the moments when she could sneak into the shelter of his shadow, could allow herself, just for a moment, to be simply  _ Allura _ . 

Allura who wasn’t born to be a warrior or a commander, but found herself thrust into the role regardless. Allura who despite that role, still felt like a little girl waiting for her father to save her. 

She aches for those moments now, because she is so, so scared and she wants nothing more than to feel safe. To be wrapped in arms strong enough to help her hold up the world. 

The temptation is there, always, to let herself slip. To trust that Lotor would not crush the galaxy in his grip. To believe that he would be as gentle with it as he once was with her. To allow herself to be tamed. 

But she forces herself to remember the coldness that had overtaken his voice when he said: “ _ Destroy the lions.” _ The malicious glee in his voice when he told her of his plans for his new Altea. The countless, nameless Alteans that he had sacrificed in his single-minded pursuit of his goals. 

_ He was gentle before, _ she warns herself sternly,  _ but look at how easily he turned to cruelty, to insanity.  _ How long before she is an acceptable price to pay for what he wants? Until the galaxy is? 

She shudders to imagine his voice, still soft and kind, his face, still open and gentle as he regretfully informs her that she must die. 

Allura shudders and paces through her rooms, her arms wrapped around her middle. She feels weak and useless, she doesn’t feel like herself. She has fought a hundred battles, come face to face with cruelty and depravity. Seen things that give her nightmares to this day. 

How is it that Lotor’s gentleness is more frightening than all of them? 

If he were still the mad thing that attacked them at the rift, if he snarled and screamed and ordered her killed, tortured, she would still be afraid, but it would be better than this soft prison. 

She had tried to refuse to eat, in the beginning. A decision born of paranoia and defiance swirling together in her gut and making eating impossible even if she’d wanted to. That had only lasted for a few days before Lotor warned her in his gentle voice that she  _ must _ eat or he would intervene. 

She had made the mistake of not believing him, of continuing her hunger strike. The fourth day, he had returned with a sentry and a healer at his side. He had held her hand as the sentry held her down and the healer forced a tube down her throat. Stroked the hair away from her forehead as they’d poured food goo into her belly. Pressed his lips to her forehead as they left and whispered apologies into her hair. 

She ought to have forced herself to throw up the food and continue her strike, but she couldn’t bear to do it. Even now, when he looks at her concerned when she doesn’t eat all of the food on her plate, a jolt of terror flashes through her. 

Her hands are shaking, she realizes and she rubs them up and down her arms. It isn’t cold, her rooms are always kept at the perfect temperature and she has access to the environmental controls should she want them warmer or colder. 

Allura finds herself in front of the empty room that she has come to use for practicing her combat maneuvers. It isn’t the same as the old training room in the castle, or even like when the paladins would invade each other’s lions for a day of sparring. Still, something is better than nothing and she needs the physical activity to drive the thoughts out of her head. 

She begins with stretches and moves on to fighting imaginary enemies. All of them seem to have Lotor’s face in her mind. Her lips pull back in a snarl and she attacks them with a ferocity she wishes she could unleash on the real one. 

She doesn’t stop until there is sweat dripping into her eyes and her chest is heaving. She wipes the sweat away with her sleeve, glad that for now at least, her thoughts have calmed into a simple desire for water and rest. 

That is when she finds Lotor in the doorway. Her knees nearly give way at the sheer shock of seeing him there. How long had he been watching? Why hadn’t she heard him, seen him? 

He is watching her with an expression of near awe, softened by the loving expression that haunts her nightmares. “I had nearly forgotten how talented of a fighter you are.” His smile is proud, once she would have swelled with pride to hear him say such a thing. Now it makes her nervous. “If you would like, this room could be turned into a true gym.” 

“Perhaps,” Allura says, because she hates to accept anything from him, but having a real gym is a tempting thought. After all of her hard work, the anxious thoughts are already starting to swirl in her head again. 

It makes her teeth grind together and her knuckles itch to punch something. Like Lotor’s face. She is tired of wrestling with herself over his gentleness. She needs a real reminder of what he is capable of. “Spar with me.” She says before she can talk herself out of it. 

Lotor is surprised for a moment, then quietly thoughtful, considering her. She is afraid for a long moment that he will deny her, but then he says, “very well.” And steps into the room. 

The door shuts behind him and Allura can already feel her heartbeat quickening with nervousness. Good. This is what she needs. 

She doesn’t give Lotor any time to get ready or hesitate, she simply flings herself at him, fists flying. He blocks her first punch, sidesteps the second. Tries to sweep her legs out from under her. She jumps over his leg and tries to circle to his back. He keeps her in his sights, studying her form, looking for weaknesses with his predator’s eyes. 

Her heartbeat jumps again. Allura bares her teeth and darts forward. He meets her with a sharp blow to her unguarded side. For him, it is a gentle tap, barely even that. It galls her to have him claim first blood, but she doesn’t let it distract her. 

She weaves out of the way of his follow up attacks and darts behind his back. She deals a heavy kick to the back of his knee, driving him to the ground. It is thrilling to see him on his knees before her and she is suddenly aware that if she had a weapon, she could kill him here and now. 

He turns the tide on her quickly though, twisting as he rises to lunge for her. Allura springs away quickly but she’s forgotten her position in the room and she feels her elbow brush back against the wall. 

Lotor doesn’t give her the chance to recover, he presses her advantage, keeping her pressed back to the wall as they exchange blows. He could end this fight now, she knows, he is allowing their match to continue. 

Part of her snarls in anger at the thought of him toying with her but the more logical side of her is sure that he is only drawing it out because he is enjoying the fight. Enjoying spending time with her. The thought makes a shudder run down her spine. Suddenly, she wants this to end, wants him to go away and leave her in her cage. She aims her next move carefully and distracts him enough to score a hit directly to his nose. Something crunches under her fingers and blood scents the air. Allura snarls with victory. 

She uses his temporary surprise to her advantage and darts around him so that she once more has breathing room. He turns, blood dripping down his face, his eyes alight with fierce delight and she feels her breath catch in her lungs. 

She hadn’t been able to see him in that terrible decisive battle at the rift, but in all of her nightmares of that day, this is what he looked like. He lunges for her before she can jolt herself out of her shock. They crash to the floor together, her body pinned beneath his. Her wrists captured in one of his hands, once, when their alliance was new he had taken her hand by the very tips of her fingers, so easy to pull away from him, and yet she hadn’t wanted to. 

Now she very desperately does, but his hand is as immovable as metal. The feral delight in his eyes dims a bit as he registers that he has won. “Yield,” he says softly, almost pleadingly. She knows that he is talking about more than finishing their match. 

“Never.” 

There is pain in his eyes, but at the same time, there is admiration. She wishes that he would be angry with her for denying him, that he would rage and try to force her to give in. Instead, he smiles painfully, admiringly, and helps pull her to her feet. 

“Thank you for the match, Allura. It was most enjoyable. I shall give you a chance to clean up before lunch.” 

She is glad for the chance to shower, the warm water allows her to pretend that her tears aren’t really there. She huddles in the bottom of the stall, miserable and yearning all over again for the feeling of safety. 

She is desperately tired of this fear, the way it paces up and down her spine. She cannot sleep, she doesn’t want to eat but she cannot bring herself to refuse food, not after last time. 

She sits through her meal with Lotor and the fear hovers at her shoulder. It squeezes her heart painfully each time he reaches for his knife, each time his fangs flash when his eyes rest on her with that terrible gentleness. 

She tells herself that it is better than the temptation to take his hand, to allow him to pull her close and wrap his arms around her. Better than giving in. 

It is. 

It  _ is. _

“Is there anything you desire?” he asks as he leaves. 

“Set me free,” she begs. 

“Allura,” he replies in his gentle voice, reaching out to touch her cheek with a gentle hand, “you are free.” 


End file.
